


a heart not made to be so still

by BeesKnees



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Anal Sex, Because reading poetry is sexy, Bottom Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Prompt Fill, Top Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Virgin Nicky, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: Nicolo di Genova has been in their city for exactly three weeks when he accidentally proposes to Yusuf al-Kaysani. To Yusuf's great chagrin, he does it in front of nearly half the community.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 150
Kudos: 1052





	a heart not made to be so still

Nicolo di Genova has been in their city for exactly three weeks when he proposes to Yusuf al-Kaysani. To Yusuf's great chagrin, he does it in front of nearly half the community. 

There wasn't anything particularly … wrong with Nicolo di Genova. As far as their foreign “visitors” go, Nicolo is fine. 

Nicolo's family controlled many of the bustling ports in the area and had becoming increasingly problematic for Yusuf's home. They were trying to spread their mercantile roots further into the Mediterranean and, perhaps, even beyond. But with each attempt at growth, they were knocked back by the Italians. 

After losing a few too many ships and shipments of merchandise, they had relented and invited the Italians to come to terms. Whatever they were going to be made to pay would surely be less than what they were losing. Yusuf still fumes at the injustice of it. 

The negotiations have not been going well. Nicolo's eldest brother, Federico, is in charge of the Italian congregation. Federico, in Yusuf's humble opinion, is a prick. They had all expected to pay a percentage of their profits in return for safe passage from the Italians. Instead, Federico has come with a plan to practically own their home, obviously seeing the intense potential it has. 

The Italians argue and demean them during the day. During the night, they drink and are rowdy.

With the exception of Nicolo. Nicolo spends his day “amongst” them – in that he's inside their village, but his focus isn't really on them. He occupies himself with any text that he can get his hands on. Occasionally, he will ask for help with a translation. The first week, they'd been suspicious of him, but Nicolo has never shown any interest in anything besides playing the scholar.

Nicolo has been sent to Yusuf for translations before. Two of Yusuf's sisters had suggested him to Nicolo. 

In many ways, therefore, Yusuf would say this whole mess is their faults.

Yusuf's home has naturally become the place where many of the intellectuals gather – to read poetry or argue philosophy or play music. It is one such afternoon that Nicolo joins them, which is perhaps not exactly a surprise. 

With quiet certainty, Nicolo presents a poem before Yusuf. A poem is a surprise. Nicolo's texts have almost always been of philosophical and theological nature. He wonders how Nicolo found this particular poem, which is _especially_ ardent, or who showed it to him.

Still. Yusuf delicately clears his throat and helps Nicolo through his pronunciation and translation. Some part of him is surprised that Nicolo is so calm in the face of _such_ words, but perhaps he shouldn't have expected anything more from the otherwise cool Italian. He feels a little sorrow for someone who can have such indifference toward words so passionate, so beautiful. The human heart isn't made for such stillness. 

That's when it happens.

Nicolo, eyes still lowered, hair unkempt and falling into his face, reads the poem from beginning to end in a soft low voice, his Arabic rather good all things considered.

Yusuf's heart stops.

Poetry is near sacred here. People don't simply read love poems aloud and to completion to one another. Doing so is a declaration of profound love, the sort that comes with a lifelong commitment. 

Yusuf's brain is in overdrive, trying to think through what signs he must have missed from the Italian standing beside him. He can't _possibly_ mean--

But when Nicolo lifts his gaze to meet Yusuf's again, his cheeks are indeed a little flushed.

_No,_ seems like the obvious and easy answer. Yusuf's parents had married for love. His sisters had married for love. Yusuf is intent on doing the same. Yes, he might be past the age preferable for marriage, but he has always intended to do it as a great romance or not at all. 

Nicolo is attractive enough, but Yusuf knows nothing of him – other than his rapid and mostly indifferent consumption of the best of their works and the callousness of his father and brother. Uncomfortably, Yusuf realizes that he's been put in a position where he can't refuse. Rejecting Nicolo di Genova's marriage proposal in public would be a humiliation that his family wouldn't allow. This is a card played in a game of negotiations, and Yusuf resigns himself to the fact that this is simply something that is going to have to happen if he is going to protect the other loves his life – his family, his home, his ambition, and their futures. 

It feels like the moment is dragging on forever. Out of the corner of his eyes, Yusuf can see one of his sisters with her wide eyes, hand pressed against her mouth.

Yusuf bows his head a little and then reads the last two lines of the poem back to Nicolo di Genova, accepting his proposal.

…

His brother's men seem rowdier than usual when Nicolo returns to camp for the evening. Usually, Nicolo tries to get in without being noticed but, most mights, he is made to appear in front of Federico anyway. 

Tonight is such a night. 

Unexpectedly, his brother is overjoyed to see him tonight. 

“You little idiot!” Federico cries happily, grabbing both sides of Nicolo's face. “I don't know whether I should slap you or thank you! Both, I suppose!”

“What?” Nicolo asks inelegantly, having no idea what he could have done this time. He's tried to stay out of Federico's way during this trip. Their father insists Nicolo go. Federico insists he remain near invisible. Nicolo tries to comply with both of them.

“Yusuf al-Kaysani came to visit us this afternoon,” Federico says as he pours a glass of wine for Nicolo. He butchers Yusuf's name but Nicolo doesn't get a chance to correct him.

“He came to accept your very public offer of marriage,” Federico says, smug.

“What?” Nicolo asks again, choking on his wine.

“You read him a poem or something?” Federico continues. “That's apparently enough to constitute a betrothal here. It's perfect, Nicolo. You'll stay here with your new _husband_ , he'll take our family name, keeping us with a hold over this region. It'll grow into a port city, your husband will be made rich, and we'll still be passed part of the cut.” He toasts Nicolo. “I think we would have had to raze this city otherwise.”

Nicolo is spinning. He's going back over the words of the poem that he had read earlier and the intensity with which Yusuf had answered with. 

“But he doesn't love me,” Nicolo protests. 

Federico laughs.

“I knew you didn't know what you were doing,” he says. “But it's too late now, baby brother. Unless you'd prefer for this to end in ruin and destruction? You going back on your good word?” 

Nicolo squirms under Federico's knowing gaze. He won't. Not if it means that people would be hurt. 

Still, Nicolo struggles to figure out just why Yusuf would have accepted his accidental blunder. He can see the appeal of Yusuf effortlessly, of course. He's highly spoken of by his community. When Nicolo had asked for help with translation and pronunciation, near everyone had recommended him to Yusuf – he's so clever and intelligent, they had said. And he is. He's clearly had the sort of education that Nicolo had longed for but been denied. 

Nicolo had tried to enter the priesthood in his early years, figuring it was an easy way to be out from his family without any disgrace. His father had refused him that option. Nicolo had held out hope for a good education regardless, but his father had said that he didn't need to learn anything that he or his brothers didn't know. 

But Yusuf knows all of those worldly things, speaks to everything as if it's second nature. He's distractingly good looking, which Nicolo thinks is additionally unfair. He's heard that Yusuf is quite kind too. He's always treated Nicolo with politeness, which is more than he probably deserves, given the circumstances. But he's still seen the way that Yusuf will laugh with his sisters sometimes – when he's unaware that Nicolo is near and watching or listening. The sound had made Nicolo warm all over. Yusuf's eyes had gleamed.

So, yes, he has no problem seeing the draw of Yusuf. He fails to see why Yusuf would be drawn to him. 

Unless it's just as his brother has outlined and Yusuf sees the political maneuvering of it as well.

Nicolo takes a deep drink of his wine.

“It's custom here for a betrothed couple to live together for a year before being formally married,” Federico continues, immune to Nicolo's concerns. “I talked them down to three months for you. I'll finish the last of negotiations during that time, you'll be married, and I'll be gone from this cursed place.” He laughs. “I did tell you, did I not, Nicolo, that all of that reading would get you into trouble one day.”

“You did,” Nicolo answers faintly and downs the rest of the wine.

He spends the rest of the night without sleeping, staring at the top of his tent. This is ridiculous. It can't actually play out this way, Nicolo thinks. In the morning, he will talk to Yusuf and they'll sort things out. But even as he thinks through that plan, he can't imagine a good ending. If his brother is right, this might be an easy way to achieve peace. And, likely, he thinks that's the appeal for Yusuf. Yusuf knew what he was doing when he accepted Nicolo's mistaken proposal. 

To back out now... He is scared of the violence that will bring. He's not so proud that he can't admit that. His brother has a deftness for warfare that he doesn't have for negotiations. And this _is_ a decision that Yusuf made knowingly – is it right for Nicolo to deny him that option? And that's to say nothing of whether he'll be humiliating Yusuf by going back on this. 

It's too late, Nicolo realizes. The thing is barely done, but already too much is dependent on it. 

As dawn breaks, Nicolo decides: unless Yusuf indicates he wants to break this off, Nicolo will stand by it. He will just have to figure out how to be the best husband to Yusuf al-Kaysani that he can be. He'll do what he can to bring peace to this region, which is a far sight better than what he could have hoped for, he figures. 

…

Things happen very fast after that. Later the same morning, Federico and his three of his men deliver Nicolo and his few things to the small home where Nicolo and Yusuf will spend their “courting” months. It's a house with only the basics, intended to bring them into the relationship as equals. 

Everyone eyes them as they go walking past, and color burns high and hard in Nicolo's cheeks. 

It only gets worse then they actually arrive. Yusuf is already waiting there with his three sisters and his mother, all of them dressed in what has to be near their finest clothing. Nicolo is still wearing the same traveling clothes he had on yesterday and hasn't bathed. Already hopelessly inept. 

Federico steps in front of him to speak to Yusuf and, based on his body language, that's not how this is supposed to go. Nicolo can't bear the thought of seeing the expression on Yusuf's face, so he looks toward his sisters. The youngest, Siraj, is the one Nicolo is most well acquainted with, and she, at least, looks happy. She smiles broadly at him, although her sisters – Mireti and Razin – both look uncertain. Yusuf's mother looks about ready to cry, so Nicolo hurriedly looks away from her as well. 

Only belatedly does he realize that Federico and Yusuf have finished speaking. Federico is looking at him expectantly. Yusuf is holding the door. 

So, Nicolo steadies his nerves and steps inside. 

…

“Is he forcing you?” 

It's the only question that Yusuf has decided that he cares about. The rest he can make work. But tension or not, Yusuf has no intention of marrying someone who is being forced. So, that is his question for when he and Nicolo di Genova are alone together for the first time, their respective families just on the other side of the door.

Nicolo does look somewhat taken aback by the question. But then he tilts his jaw up a little, as if in challenge to what Yusuf is saying. It's not what Yusuf expected.

“No,” Nicolo answers, calm. 

Yusuf's curiosity flares. He had told himself there would only be the one question. Half of him had expected that the answer would be yes. Half of him had expected a shy, blushing response from Nicolo. None of him had predicted this enigmatic but certain answer.

Yusuf tilts his head appraisingly.

“Then why?” he says, giving in and asking the second question – the one that really matters to Yusuf, the one that he's not entirely sure he's capable of understanding.

Nicolo pauses. Yusuf waits again for him to be timid, to draw away. But he's looking resolutely, dead on, at Yusuf. Nicolo di Genova is not the mouse that Yusuf expected.

“We can do some good with this, don't you think?” Nicolo answers. 

“What do you care about doing good?” Yusuf asks, with a bit of a scoff, although he tries not to sound too mocking. 

“Why shouldn't I care about doing some good?” Nicolo parries right back, not in the slightest bit cowed by Yusuf's challenge. Unable to help himself, a faint smile curves Yusuf's mouth.

“I've seen what my brother can do,” Nicolo continues. He pauses again, this time his voice a little more tentative. “If there's something I can do to stop it, I want to. I want to help this place.” 

“How is this place different from any other?” Yusuf asks.

“It's not.” Nicolo shrugs helplessly. “This is just the first time I've been able to make any difference.” 

He thinks Nicolo is telling the truth. Yusuf considers himself to be good at reading people, and he's not about to just blindly trust Nicolo. But it's clear that Federico dominates his younger brother as well. There's no love lost there.

He supposes, as of this morning, this is the best he could have hoped for. Still a loveless, political marriage but at least one with someone who is somewhat … willing. And it's good to see that there is a spark of _something_ in the quiet Italian who has graced their village. 

“So this is purely selfless then?” Yusuf asks with a raised eyebrow. He takes half a step closer. “Nothing that you want out of it for your own sake?”

Nicolo flushes again – the same color that he had when he'd finished reading the poem to Yusuf yesterday. 

“Is it not enough to be free of Federico?” Nicolo answers instead.

Yusuf can't help but laugh.

“Well, yes,” he admits. “I suppose if my brother was Federico, I might be willing to marry a complete stranger to be free of him as well. But you don't know. I could be worse than him.”

“You're not.” It's an immediate answer, utterly confident.

“Well,” Nicolo relents with a bit of a crooked smile. “I suppose you could be but it would be a very well-kept secret. Everyone speaks highly of you here. Your sisters love you a lot.”

“And I have a marvelous library,” Yusuf tacks on, suspecting that is the truest of draws for Nicolo.

“You do have a marvelous library,” Nicolo answers, the red in his cheeks deepening.

“So that's what you do when accompanying your brother?” Yusuf asks finally. “Read and stand by while he destroys people's livelihoods and homes?” The comment is a touch accusatory, Yusuf unable to help himself.

But this time Nicolo does have the good grace to be embarrassed. His eyes drop away from Yusuf.

“It's not ...” Nicolo says, for the first time seeming to be lacking words. He licks his lips, looks nervous, and then meets Yusuf's gaze again. “I do enjoy the reading. It's no hardship for me to read anything I can get my hands on. But I also try … I try to keep a memory of anything he might destroy that I've read so that it's not truly lost. And if it so happens we make peace, then I can make the transition a little easier because I know something of the culture of where we've been.”

They're engaged and they've discussed the hate of Nicolo's family and, yet, this is the first moment that there's something vulnerable in Nicolo's eyes. To him, this is a small and true act of rebellion, and apparently he wants someone else to agree that it matters. 

Yusuf can't say that he knows. If his home were to be burned, it would be small consolation that Nicolo di Genova would be able to return to Italy and write down some facsimiles of their finest works. But then he doesn't know what he could realistically expect of Nicolo that would make some difference. 

“All right,” Yusuf relents quietly. 

“I will be kind to you,” Yusuf promises, confirming Nicolo's earlier statement. “I would like for us to live in a kind of friendship if that would be amenable to you.” 

“I would like that,” Nicolo agrees. “Thank you.” 

Unexpectedly, Nicolo holds out his hand. Yusuf takes it and they shake on the terms of their marriage. 

…

Their first few weeks together are largely like that – discovering that they have a surprising amount in common for being strangers from different lands. Yusuf can see the way the tension melts out of Nicolo's shoulders the longer he's away from the other Italians. They go to Yusuf's house almost daily to bring back texts for Nicolo to read long into the nights.

They work through translations together and improve Nicolo's Arabic. The spark that Yusuf spotted in him burns brighter the longer they're together – he's clever with his responses, almost searingly so, even when his voice remains calm. Yusuf has learned the twist of Nicolo's mouth when he's feeling a bit mischievous. 

He's still mostly quiet when they're out in public, but Yusuf has to give him credit for being willing to even leave their temporary home. Everyone is talking about them, speculating and gossiping. Nicolo has to be aware of that, but he heads out every day with Yusuf – to market, to business, to afternoon lunches with his friends. If he's still a bit distant, he's at least cordial. Yusuf never has to repeat a name to him.

When Yusuf has business that is too involved, he leaves Nicolo alone at first. That's when his sisters, led by Siraj, leap into action. The three of them flood Nicolo when Yusuf is away, taking a better measure of him, making sure that that the man claiming their beloved brother is at least a good man. 

Siraj, at least, is easy to win over. She is young enough and so early in her own marriage that she could be described as overly romantic. She has always been curious about the misfit Italian. She's thrilled at the opportunity to get to learn about him more – all the more so because she believes Nicolo to be harboring tragically epic levels of feeling when it comes to Yusuf.

Mireti and Razin are a little slower to accept him. 

Nicolo, for his part, is utterly charmed by the three of them, how they and Yusuf bind together. They're so defined by their love for one another, supported and buoyed by it. In truth, Nicolo is happy for the days the sisters come, because he is content to just watch them 

But he also sees their visits as an opportunity – Nicolo is happy that he and Yusuf have developed a tentative friendship. But Nicolo reminds dedicated to the latter promise he made just to himself but for Yusuf: that he would love him. Nicolo knows that he cannot expect to be loved back, but he thinks that it would be enough for Yusuf to feel loved. That, yes, their relationship is being built upon factors besides them, but that Nicolo thinks of Yusuf, that he wants to be a source of happiness for him.

So, he asks the sisters. He gets as much information as he can about Yusuf from them – his favorite dishes and poets and pastimes. That he has a streak of stubborn that usually helps in business but sometimes does hurt. That he is quick to anger but quicker to forgive and ask for forgiveness. 

Through these stories, Mireti and Razin begin to trust Nicolo. And if they cast knowing glances at one another as this happens, what is it to Nicolo?

He buys the sweet things that Yusuf likes best and has them ready for him when he returns home. He buys poems that Yusuf does not already own and tries to read those to him at the fireside at night. He learns how to make Yusuf's favorite soap and how to properly care for Yusuf's hair – so different from Nicolo's own. The sisters teach him how to cook Yusuf's favorite dishes and how to haggle for good prices at the market.

Somewhere in the midst of the weeks, Nicolo realizes a simple but profound notion: he has fallen for Yusuf. While learning how to love Yusuf, he actually fell in love with him.

…

They're approaching the end of their three months, and Yusuf is called away for a little while for business in the next village over. 

Nicolo is surprised to find how at ease he is even without Yusuf. At home, he is defined by everything that his father is. People don't dare get too close – particularly not to him, the ill-favored younger son. And, yes, people are still wary of him here – wary that he is just another Italian, wary that is he stealing Yusuf away for some malicious purpose. But he's beginning to find his own place. 

And that floors him in some way. That is not something Nicolo ever dared to hope for at all in his lifetime.

He finally works up the courage to ask the sisters what they would cook for Yusuf if it was a meal that was meant to matter. (A meal meant to thank him for freedom, for friendship, for a home better than one Nicolo has ever known. A meal meant to say that he loves him.)

The sisters smile knowingly at each other. 

And then they all set to work. They bring Nicolo to their mother for the first time. Nicolo is terrified after their near-disastrous first meeting. She is still wary around him, and Nicolo is ever aware of her gaze on him, but there are no tears and no disapproving looks. So Nicolo makes do. He copies the sisters as they chop vegetables and knead dough and pinch spices. They tease him over how easily his eyes water from the spice and Nicolo laughs along with them. 

“Ah!” Siraj exclaims when they're almost done. “And wine, of course.” She disappears for a few minutes and then reappears, balancing three bottles. “Yusuf's favorite,” she explains as she unloads the wine into Nicolo's arm. He half-heartedly protests, because this is surely _too_ much. But Siraj insists, so Nicolo goes back to their courting house with the wine and lots of spices and lists of ingredients to buy fresh from the market.

He does. The night that Yusuf is set to come home, Nicolo spends fretting in the kitchen, trying to recapture everything that Yusuf's family has taught him.

He's certain he's made a mess of it. He's sweating. His hair is sticking to the back of his neck. He's so busy trying not to burn one thing after another that he doesn't notice Yusuf coming inside. Only belatedly does his neck prickle with the warning of being watched. He looks – only to find Yusuf appearing quite amused, leaning against the doorway, still in his travel clothes.

“That is my mother's most difficult meal,” Yusuf says, nodding toward where Nicolo is fighting the food.

“Is it?” Nicolo says, running a forearm against his forehead. 

“Mm,” Yusuf answers, his eyes warm. Nicolo knows him well enough that he can see the shades of Yusuf's reaction: that Yusuf is amused that his sisters managed to “con” Nicolo into making such a meal. But also … he thinks, maybe, warmth? Warmth for him? Warmth that Nicolo was willing to try this for him? 

Nicolo feels a familiar fluttering of nerves: the oddity of knowing this all matters now.

“I wanted you to have something nice to come home to,” Nicolo says, regaining his nerve and looking directly at Yusuf. Yusuf's gaze softens further, and Nicolo knows now that the warmth is for him. He feels victorious in seeing it.

“I'll wash up then,” Yusuf says, “and let you finish.” 

Nicolo nods, perhaps a bit dumbly, but who is there to see? And who would they be to judge him when in the face of such an expression from Yusuf?

Yusuf disappears from the doorway and Nicolo begins the task of getting some food onto plates and onto the table. He's not sure he's quite managed the delicate balance of spices, but everything at least looks edible. He pours two glasses of the wine and drinks nearly half of his before Yusuf even returns. 

When he does re-enter, they both remain standing for a pause, merely assessing the other. This isn't what either of them expected when this mess began, but they're both aware of how things are shifting beneath their feet. Either of them could stop it any point. It feels like it could be stopped by the merest breath, a motion in just the wrong way. But it's precisely because of that they both want to try and find a way to build on it: it might be vulnerable but it's precious. Those two facts exist together, intertwined.

Yusuf takes a seat at the table. Nicolo follows suit.

Aware of Nicolo's watching, Yusuf takes a bite of his meal. He chews, almost thoughtfully, and then smiles. 

“It is a good first attempt, Nicolo,” Yusuf praises him.

“That's the consolation of someone who doesn't care for what he's eating,” Nicolo answers in teasing. He takes his own bite – but finds Yusuf's assessment rather accurate. It's good – decidedly edible with a decent amount of flavoring. The problem, of course, is that he's also had the true version that Yusuf's family makes so he knows this is still just an imitation. 

But it will do for tonight.

They eat together, sinking back into the other's company. Nicolo asks about Yusuf's trip and Yusuf shares the more amusing anecdotes. Nicolo swaps his own tales of his time in the city without Yusuf. They both indulge heavily in the wine, which is just as good as Siraj promised. But the time the sun sets, they're both quite drunk. 

Nicolo falls further in love as he watches Yusuf become looser with his laughter. He laughs with every bit of his body, his spine curving forward, eyes aglow. He slaps his leg every now and then. Nicolo is simply aware of the physicality of this man in a way he never has with anyone before.

In the morning, they will not remember who started the dancing. Nicolo will argue that Yusuf was showing off. Yusuf will argue that Nicolo asked to be taught because he had little opportunity for dancing at home.

In any case, they are suddenly pressed together, loose limbed and warm. Yusuf sings a song for them to move to, which is, perhaps, a little battered by his incessant laughter. They clang their foreheads together as Nicolo tries to watch his feet. And Nicolo does, indeed, step on Yusuf's feet as though he was made to do it. 

“What bruises my poor feet will have in the morning!” Yusuf bemoans. “It should be a crime for one as graceful as you to have such poor footwork!” 

Nicolo tries to shush him in between his own laughs. 

“You make it too difficult to concentrate!” Nicolo protests. 

“Concentrate?” Yusuf echoes. “Stop trying to _concentrate_ and listen to your body.” His hands drop to Nicolo's hips.

The mood shifts quickly. The warmth of their laughter burns into something hotter. 

Nicolo's eyes drop to Yusuf's mouth, and he can hear the inhale that Yusuf takes. Nicolo does what he's been told to do: he listens to his body. He leans in and captures Yusuf's mouth with his own, the taste of the wine reflected back on him.

Yusuf makes a rough sound, near a groan. That noise curls low in Nicolo's gut. For a moment, he thinks that Yusuf might still pull away – tell him that they might have a tentative friendship, but this is something else entirely. This is something that Nicolo is not entitled to. 

But instead Yusuf grabs a rough handful of his hair and hauls him closer. Everything inside Nicolo thrills. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. He stops thinking again and slides one hand up the side of Yusuf's neck, where his skin feels like near velvet except for the thrumming of his pulse.

Yusuf suddenly breaks away, pulling in ragged breaths although he leaves his forehead pressed to Nicolo's.

“This is what you want?” Yusuf presses, his voice hoarse. “It's not something you feel like you have to give?” His eyes search Nicolo's.

“I want this,” Nicolo answers without hesitation. He pushes his body more soundly up against Yusuf's, their hips knocking together. Nicolo frames Yusuf's face in his hands and kisses him again. His answer seems to be more than enough to please Yusuf. 

Yusuf guides them back toward the bed they've shared for weeks – sleeping as far apart as they can without touching, their backs facing each other. Yusuf goes down onto it now and pulls Nicolo into his lap. Nicolo falls against him, wrapping an arm around Yusuf's broad shoulders. They come together to kiss again, Yusuf's teeth playing along Nicolo's lower lip in a way that makes him shiver obviously. 

It's only then that Nicolo realizes that Yusuf is hard in between them. 

Nicolo pulls away to look down between them, sucking in a deep breath. Almost tentatively he reaches between them, undoing the laces to Yusuf's pants. His cock springs free, Nicolo watching, Yusuf watching Nicolo.

For just a moment, Nicolo hesitates.

“You've done this before, sweet Nicolo?” Yusuf asks, carding his fingers through Nicolo's hair. Nicolo looks up at him and shakes his head minutely. There's color high in his cheeks that Yusuf wants to run his teeth along.

“I'll show you everything,” Yusuf promises. “Touch me like how you like to be touched.”

And Nicolo, who has proven time and time again that he is never the one to back down, does. He wraps his hand around Yusuf and begins to stroke. Yusuf hisses and then bites at his own lower lip. Nicolo's touch is slow but firm at first, but he becomes emboldened the more he sees Yusuf's reaction. He's mesmerized. The very air around them seems to simmer with their warmth, and Nicolo didn't know it was possible to feel this connected to another human being on so many levels.

Yusuf bucks up against Nicolo's touch a few times, the best that he can, and then reaches to grab Nicolo's wrist. He smiles. 

“Come here,” Yusuf says, inviting Nicolo for another kiss. Nicolo surges forward, greedy for more, and they go toppling onto the bed together. Only then do they start to properly peel off one another's clothes, taking their time, their fingers tracing newly exposed skin. Yusuf maps out every freckle on Nicolo's paler skin, and Nicolo tangles his fingers into Yusuf's chest hair. Their bodies intertwine, fitting together with an ease that will stick with them in the sober morning hours. 

At some point, Yusuf pulls away to grab a bottle of oil. When he settles back on the bed, he spreads his legs for Nicolo. 

“You would like this too?” Yusuf murmurs, tangling their fingers and leading them down in between his legs, brushing against the furl of his opening.

Nicolo nods once more, not sure how he's ever going to be able to speak again. Yusuf smiles, mercurial and quicksilver in the low light. Yusuf presses an oil-drenched finger inside of himself, and Nicolo keeps his hand there as well, feeling what Yusuf is doing. They never break the other's gaze. Yusuf stretches himself open on two fingers, rocking and scissoring while Nicolo's fingertips trace his rim with a feather touch. 

Emboldened, Nicolo slowly slides one of his own fingers inside of Yusuf. He watches for any signs of discomfort, but Yusuf only nods, encouraging him. They fill him together.

“Perfect, Nicolo,” Yusuf praises, in part because it's true and in part because he wants to see that flush spread down Nicolo's neck and onto his chest. 

They continue a little while longer before Yusuf removes both their hands. He spreads his legs wider, bracketing his knees about Nicolo's hips. He thinks, at first, that he may have to coax Nicolo forward, but Nicolo takes himself in hand and begins to press the blunt head of his cock against Yusuf's opening.

“Like this?” Nicolo asks, the words barely above a whisper, continually searching Yusuf's face for discomfort or pain or a signal that he's doing something wrong.

“Yes,” Yusuf breathes back. “Just like that, Nicolo.” Everything else seems to stop as Nicolo rocks himself into Yusuf's welcoming body. Only when Nicolo is fully seated do they seem to remember how to breathe.

“Oh,” Nicolo says, wide eyed. Yusuf laughs.

“Move,” Yusuf encourages. “Perhaps we can do a bit better than 'oh.'” Nicolo smiles back at him, wide and beaming, near the most joyous that Yusuf has seen from him. He does as told and begins to rock his hips before working into long thrusts. Yusuf keeps his hips tilted, pushing himself into the thrusts.

Yusuf knows this first time won't last – they're too keyed up from being so close to each other, to the heady rush of what's happening. Nicolo closes his eyes and chews at his lower lip, trying to hang on.

“Look at me,” Yusuf requests, and Nicolo does, eyes snapping back open. Yusuf is arrested by that odd shade of blue-green. 

Looking at him proves to be Nicolo's undoing. His hips jerk forward sharply and then he's coming, making a sound near sobbing that he leans forward to bury into Yusuf's neck. Yusuf delights in the spread of warmth inside of him and needs to come as close to that as he can – he wraps a hand around himself and jerks himself a few times before he's coming as well. His lower back bows up and he groans as he spills between the two of them. Nicolo makes another gasping sound against his neck as he does.

“I love you,” Nicolo says drunkenly against his neck. The admission startles Yusuf for a moment, a depth of feeling that he wasn't entirely prepared for despite the intensity of the evening.

“I'm learning to,” Yusuf answers back quietly, believing he owes Nicolo an honest answer. He feels Nicolo smile against his neck.

They fall asleep like that.

…

They wake, hungover and plastered together, to pounding on the door.

“Go away!” Yusuf shouts without moving. 

“Nicolo!” comes the equally annoyed shout. Nicolo groans, recognizing the voices of his brother's men. If they're here, it means that Federico wants him. And if Federico wants him, Nicolo wouldn't put it past the men to break through the door and grab him out of this bed. 

Blurry, he pushes himself upright.

“Don't go,” Yusuf protests in what some people might consider a whine.

“I'll be back,” Nicolo reassures him. Almost shyly, he smooths some of Yusuf's curls away from his face. “Stay here.” He kisses Yusuf's forehead.Yusuf sleepily opens one eye to look at him and then nods in agreement. He smiles a little, which warms Nicolo.

The banging at the door continues and Nicolo groans, pulling on clothing from where it landed on the floor last night. He heads outside, flinching at the bright light. His brother's men are irritated with him for making them wait, but nothing can dampen Nicolo's spirit this morning. Even a visit to his brother. He starts heading toward the dock without prompting, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible so he can crawl back into bed with Yusuf. 

Federico's ship seems busier than usual, but Nicolo ignores it in favor of finding his brother along the shoreline. Such a task isn't hard. As soon as Federico sees him, he gives him a once over, as if he can see everything Nicolo and Yusuf did last night. 

“We're returning home early,” Federico says without precursor. “Today.” 

“We” could mean Federico and his men. But, without any doubt, Nicolo suddenly knows it means Federico and himself.

“What?” Nicolo asks inelegantly. 

“It seems Father was displeased with my decision to sell you to some foreign savage,” Federico says carelessly. “We're going home.”

“No,” Nicolo answers automatically, without thinking. “I'm staying here.” He realizes he's wearing Yusuf's shirt.

Federico sighs. 

“Nicolo, you can get on that ship of your own volition or I can have the men truss you up and toss you on,” he says. 

“I am not going,” Nicolo says more adamantly. 

Federico looks him over again.

“You little idiot,” he says finally, irritated. “You fell for him, didn't you? I promise you there's equally good Italian cock waiting at home.” Nicolo feels a dark flush spread with anger across his face to the tips of his ears.

Nicolo turns away from his brother without another word, planning on just walking back into the city. He's not going, and that's a final decision in his mind. Federico springs as soon as his back is turned, grabbing Nicolo by the wrist.

Nicolo reacts on instinct alone; he swings around into the touch and grabs Federico's longsword, drawing it in a swift motion. Federico snarls at him.

“What do you think you're going to do with that, Nicolo?” he asks, but he does relinquish his hold on Nicolo and takes half a step back.

“I've got the same training as you, Federico,” Nicolo snaps. “I'm not going back to Italy with you.” 

Federico growls and then closes the distance between them, trying to knock the blade free from Nicolo's grasp. Nicolo keeps his hold on it, knocking Federico back with a hard blow. He takes a moment to keep the sword level with his brother's chest – both of them aware that this is the moment that Nicolo could have ended Federico if he so desired it. But he doesn't. He knocks Federico to the ground below, although he still keeps the sword trained on him.

“I'm staying here,” he says again. “Say it.”

“You're staying here,” Federico says through gritted teeth.

“Tell Father I ran off,” Nicolo says. “I don't care. Let me be the disappointment of a son he always wanted.” He knows that _is_ what Federico will do – not for Nicolo's sake, but his own. It will be a way to save his pride. He'll still deliver the good business deal. Nicolo will just be gone because of his own foolishness – nothing that Federico could have _possibly_ done.

Nicolo steps back from Federico. His brother is still glaring daggers at him from the ground. Nicolo decides that it's better not to return the sword. He feels he's earned it anyway. 

Without exposing his back to his brother, he heads back toward the docks. 

To his great surprise, he sees Yusuf standing there, flushed and breathless, scimitar in hand. He looks at Nicolo with a kind of awe that Nicolo thinks he could get really used to. 

Nicolo holds out a hand for Yusuf as he steps up next to him. 

“Home?” Nicolo asks, and Yusuf nods.

…

They take a little more time with their engagement after that – now that it's not required of them. Now that it truly is a choice. But not that much longer because they find they do want to get married, they are ready.

The night before their wedding, Nicolo spends hours murmuring poetry into Yusuf's ear, warm and humid and entirely intentional.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
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> \-- “<3” as extra kudos  
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> shout at me on [tumblr](https://kneesofthebee.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] a heart is not made to be so still written by BeesKnees](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666308) by [Peckishdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peckishdragon/pseuds/Peckishdragon)




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